Chương 9
Not a criminal mastermind.
Not a saint.
A dying businessman with a private accounting system he did not trust his own company to hold.
“What did you do with the notebooks?”
Daniel looked at me.
“I hid them.”
“Where?”
“I’m not telling you here.”
My temper flared.
Ruiz raised a hand.
“He’s right.”
I turned on her.
“Wonderful.”
“This room was not swept.”
That silenced me.
I looked automatically toward the ceiling tiles.
Ruiz said, “We already found one planted phone.”
Daniel nodded.
“I’m not naming the location until we’re somewhere secure.”
I hated that he was being rational.
It made it harder to remain cleanly furious.
Ruiz pointed at the envelope.
“Could Beckett know about the notebooks?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“My father wrote his name in them.”
“That doesn’t mean Beckett knew they survived.”
“No.”
“Who else knew?”
“Margaret might.”
“Might?”
Daniel’s eyes moved toward me.
“My parents had a bad marriage.”
I almost laughed.
“That’s the first unsurprising fact today.”
He ignored it.
“My father kept financial control.”
“Margaret hated that,” I said.
“Yes.”
“She told me once that Frank treated her like an employee with a clothing allowance.”
Daniel looked surprised.
“When?”
“Your fortieth birthday.”
“That sounds like her.”
“She was drunk.”
“That also sounds like her.”
The moment lasted half a second.
Then the weight returned.
Ruiz tapped the evidence bag.
“Where was this envelope found?”
The officer answered from the doorway.
“Inside the sacristy cabinet.”
Ruiz turned.
“Who found it?”
“Father Brennan.”
“Did he touch it?”
“He says no.”
“Who had access to the cabinet?”
“Church staff, funeral home staff, maybe family during setup.”
Daniel looked at me.
“Beckett was here before the service.”
I frowned.
“I didn’t see him.”
“He came early.”
Ruiz stood.
“How early?”
“Seven thirty.”
“Why?”
“He said he wanted to check the guest list.”
“That’s not an attorney’s job.”
“He does things for my mother.”
“Did he come near the coffin?”
Daniel thought for a moment.
“Yes.”
My skin prickled.
“He came over while they were adjusting the lid.”
“How long was he alone?”
“Maybe a minute.”
“Enough to put the phone underneath?”
“Maybe.”
I looked at the envelope.
“And hide that.”
Ruiz called the officer back in.
“Get Father Brennan.”
He nodded and left.
Daniel stared at the envelope.
The handwriting did look like his.
Not perfectly.
But enough that I might have believed it if I found it at home.
I knew the way Daniel wrote my name when he was rushing.
The C leaned too far forward.
The i sometimes lost its dot.
This one had both.
Too careful.
“Whoever wrote it practiced.”
Ruiz looked at me.
“What?”
“The handwriting.”
I pointed.
“Daniel’s handwriting is worse.”
He looked offended.
“It’s not worse.”
“You write prescriptions without being a doctor.”
“I type most things.”
“Exactly.”
Ruiz lifted the bag toward the light.
“You’re saying it’s too neat.”
“Yes.”
Daniel leaned closer.
“She’s right.”
I looked at him.
“You don’t get points.”
“I wasn’t asking.”
Father Brennan entered a minute later wearing a black shirt with his clerical collar loosened.
He was in his sixties, bald except for a ring of white hair, and looked deeply annoyed with the entire concept of funerals.
He pointed at Daniel.
“I have questions for you that are not theological.”
Daniel rubbed his eyes.
“Take a number.”
Ruiz showed him the envelope.
“When did you find this?”
“About ten minutes ago.”
“Where?”
“Cabinet beside the vestment closet.”
“Was the cabinet locked?”
“No.”
“Who went into the sacristy this morning?”
“Half the planet.”
“Specific people.”
Father Brennan exhaled through his nose.
“Me, two altar assistants, Mr. Keene from the funeral home, your officers after everything became absurd, Mrs. Vale.”
“Margaret?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Before the service.”
“Why?”
“She wanted the chapel cross moved.”
Daniel closed his eyes.
“She wanted the cross moved.”
“She said it interfered with the floral symmetry.”
“That may be the most believable thing she’s accused of today.”
Father Brennan did not smile.
“She also brought her attorney.”
Ruiz’s attention sharpened.
“Beckett went into the sacristy?”
“For coffee.”
“There’s coffee in there?”
“There was.”
Daniel glanced toward me.
“Church coffee.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
“You hate church coffee.”
“This is not the time.”
“I know.”
Father Brennan looked between us.
“You two seem very married for people who just held a funeral.”
Neither of us answered.
Ruiz asked, “Was Beckett alone?”
“For perhaps five minutes.”
“Did you see him near the cabinet?”
“No.”
“Did anyone?”
“I was dealing with a florist who wanted to know why Mrs. Vale was threatening to sue over lilies.”
I looked at Ruiz.
She looked back at me.
Margaret’s lily complaint had started long before yesterday’s phone call.
Not a last-minute irritation.
A useful pretext repeated until it became normal.
Ruiz said, “Father, I need a complete list of anyone who had access downstairs or to the sacristy.”
“I can try.”
“Try hard.”
He gave her a dry look.
“I have spent thirty-eight years convincing people to confess their sins.”
Ruiz nodded.
“Useful skill.”
When he left, Daniel leaned toward me.
“If Beckett planted the envelope, he wanted you to ask me about my father.”
“Why?”
“To make me reveal the notebooks.”
Ruiz said, “Or to make you move them.”
That landed harder.
Daniel sat back.
I looked from him to Ruiz.
“If the notebooks are still hidden, Beckett may not know where they are.”
“Exactly.”
“And if Daniel panics and goes to retrieve them—”
“He leads Beckett there.”
Daniel said nothing.
Ruiz pointed at him.
“You do not go anywhere near those notebooks.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“You staged your own funeral.”
“Fair.”
I asked, “Can you retrieve them?”
Ruiz shook her head.
“Not without knowing the location.”
Daniel looked at her.
“And I’m not putting the location into a conversation we can’t secure.”
“Then we move.”
“To where?”
“Station.”
Daniel hesitated.
Ruiz noticed.
“What?”
“If Beckett has access to anyone inside your team—”
May you like
She went very still.
“You think one of my people is compromised.”
